I was lucky enough to be in Sydney for Anzac day this year, where perhaps the largest march in the country is held. I got up early and went into town to see it, despite some rain which encouraged many to watch it instead from their tv sets. The march (we might call it a parade in the U.S., though the term doesn't seem to carry the necessary dignity) lasted over three hours, and consisted of groups of veterans from countless foreign campaigns, currently serving military, high school and local bands, and a dozen scottish pipe bands.
I was standing across from a group of elderly women who are a part of a group who lost husbands or other family in war. As the groups of veterans would pass, many would salute or take off their hats to this group of ladies, who had the biggest smiles and the most Australian spirit of anyone there, and waved their flags with energy all morning. One very elderly veteran stood up in the back of the military truck he was riding in, took off his hat, and put his hand over his heart with touching solemnity. Another veteran stood across from me for most of the parade (except toward the end when he joined his group of veterans to march), with a big smile on his face, on the actual parade route instead of behind the fences with the crowd. He would shake hands with as many veterans as he could. Every so often he must have seen someone he knew, and he would walk with them a little ways, shaking hands and hugging them. He seemed to make it his personal duty to show as much love, joy and encouragement as possible, and to make sure the veterans knew we were grateful for everything they had sacrificed. As for the crowd, every time a group of veterans passed we clapped for them - you just couldn't help it as you thought about their service to their country, and what they may have gone through. We clapped til our hands hurt. But you just couldn't let a single old gentleman with medals pass without thanking him in that way.
Before the march sprigs of rosemary are handed out for free - rosemary for remembrance (the Greeks believed it assisted memory, and would wear it during their academic studies, the tradition of using it to remember remains). At the end of the day the streets all smelled of it as it was crushed underfoot and rained upon.
At one point in the march a man walked by carrying an old black and white photograph of a man, perhaps a father or grandfather no longer with us, with his military cap hung on the side of the photograph. This was one of the most moving sights for me.
I am very grateful to have been able to witness the great tradition of Anzac Day, and to be able to be present in Australia to celebrate it with the residents. It was a good reminder of all that our own military have accomplished and sacrificed over the years, and I was privileged to lend my applause to such distinguished veterans, whether or not we are from the same country.
On a lighter note about the day - I have never in my life heard so many bands play Waltzing Matilda. Yikes....
